“I can’t—”
“You ain’t helpin’ him, honey. You ain’t helpin’ him at all. You’re only holdin’ him up, bracin’ him for the next fall. Let him fall. Let him try to get up by hisself.”
Kasey stood there a moment longer. She didn’t know what to say. She suddenly felt an enormous sense of compassion for this woman with the frizzy red hair, smoker’s cough, and tough-love tactics.
She thanked the woman with a smile. Then she turned and left the apartment.
That night she went to the Y and gave a class with Peggy. She screamed a little louder than usual.
*
Jay rang the doorbell. Although it was his own house, the last thing he wanted to do was make Dianne or her three bodyguards nervous—or worse yet, trigger-happy. Alan Ginsburg, the surveillance man from the hotel, opened the door.
“Evening, Mr. King,” Ginsburg said.
As Jay stepped over the threshold, the mantel clock struck the hour, nine bells. “Evening, Al. How’s she doing tonight?”
The man reset the security alarm. He shrugged his shoulders. “Hard to say. She hasn’t come out of her room since she took a dip in the pool late this afternoon.”
For the past week, up to the bomb threat, Dianne’s moods had fluctuated from angry and argumentative to weepy and despondent. Now she was rigid, icy, totally unresponsive. As much as Jay disliked her outbursts, he preferred them to this hostile wall of silence.
“Has she had dinner?”
“The housekeeper took it in to her about a half hour ago.”
“Anything I should know about?”
“A couple of suspicious calls this morning. Hang-ups. The machine ID’d the number as one tied to the central line at the club. No way to get a fix on an exact location, however.”
So Cage had been in the hotel that morning. Had he made those calls knowing they couldn’t be traced? More than likely he had hoped they would be traced. He wanted them to know he could walk among them undetected, doing whatever he pleased. “Anything else?”
“Naw. Everything’s quiet. Mrs. King accidentally tripped the alarm when she went out for a swim, but it’s cool now. I don’t think she’ll forget next time. Chuck’s got binoculars on the hillsides and Tob’s on rounds. Anybody tries to get within even a hundred feet of this place, we’re gonna know it.”
Chuck Smith was stationed in the pool house and Tobby Sever was camped out in a special surveillance van across the street. Alan Ginsburg, assigned to watch Dianne full-time, stayed inside the house.
“Sir, if I can say something?”
“Sure, Al, what is it?”
“Well, we got things pretty well under control here. I don’t think your wife has to worry about this creep sneakin’ up on her long as we’re here.”
“I agree.”
“It’s you, sir, that I worry about. You’re taking a helluva chance running back and forth every day by yourself. That clown—the one who’s after you—well, he could be anywhere. He knows where you live and he could be waiting out on the highway somewhere, waiting to run you off the road or even take a potshot at you when you’re getting in and out of the car.”
“I’m aware of that, Al. What do you suggest?”
“Don’t make yourself a target. Sit tight somewhere till the cops catch him.”
“That could take a long time. I have a business to run.”
“Yeah, well—”
“Al, if Cage wants to kill me, he’ll have to come out in the open to do it. I won’t hole up like a scared rabbit.” Jay squeezed Ginsburg’s shoulder. “Thanks for the concern. It’s appreciated. I’ll look in on my wife now.”
Ginsburg pressed his lips together and nodded.
Jay found Dianne in the bedroom staring out the window. A ribbon of cigarette smoke rose above her.
“Dianne, come away from the window.”
She turned slowly, her arms crossed in front of her. “I’m not safe in my own home with armed guards all around. Is that what you’re saying?”
He didn’t answer.
“Maybe he’ll just shoot me and get it over with,” she said.
“Now you’re being melodramatic.”
“Am I?” She dragged deeply on the cigarette, waved it in the air. “I’m going nuts here. I can’t make a move without tripping the alarm or seeing some goon gawking at me.”
“You can come back to the club.”
“No,” she blurted out. “Not back there. All the bodyguards in the world can’t protect me from a bomb in a place as public and open as that. At least here there’s a measure of security. I have my own bed, the pool, Helga, all the comforts in my own private little prison.”
This was the most she’d said in days. “Do you want to go away somewhere?”
She gave him a hard look. “With you?”
“That’s up to you. Do you want me with you?”
She dropped her gaze, shook her head. “I don’t know yet.”
On a table in front of the fireplace, alongside a tray of untouched food, Jay spotted an envelope with the hotel logo. He strode across the room and picked it up. The envelope was addressed to Ms. Dianne King.
“What’s this?” Jay asked.
“See for yourself.”
Inside he found yet another newspaper clipping. This one was an obituary, a quarter-page in length. The altered headline read King’s Club owner dead at 42. Below that, also altered, it read Owner/operator Jay Garner King victim of foul play.
Jay remembered the original article, written eight years ago for his father, Ralph Gordon King. There were a few changes. A current picture of Jay, also clipped from a previous newspaper article, had been glued over the face of the senior King. The age of the deceased and the sub-headline had been crudely inked in with a black marker. “This came in today’s mail?” She nodded.
“You shouldn’t have opened it, Dianne. It could have been a letter bomb.”
She paled visibly. She flung her cigarette into the fireplace. “Great, just great. How many more of those have you gotten? How many, damnit, have included me? Tell me, Jay, have you received one with my obituary?”
“I’m sorry, Dianne. I wish I knew how to make this easier for you.”
“Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. Jay, what the hell is happening? It’s that stupid club. If you had sold it when you had the chance, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“I can never sell it, Dianne. It belongs to the family.”
“Then go back to it,” she said, her voice leaden. “Sleep with it. Make love to it. It’s what you want. The hotel, not me. Go to it. Get out of here.”
“Dianne—”
“Get out!”
He stood watching her. Finally he asked, “Dianne, do you want a divorce?”
She turned away, refusing to answer.
Chapter Forty
Lucas Cage decided to follow her into town. It was nearly ten o’clock when Sherry Kidd climbed into her old GMC pickup and drove away from the Atwood house.
More than curious about what kept her out so late on certain nights, he had to check for himself. The landlady had mentioned something about a crisis center. She said Sherry worked odd hours at the center, talking on a crisis line. Her work was hush-hush.
As an ex-cop. Cage knew about the work these do-gooders did for the benefit of mankind. He’d followed up his share of dispatch calls from crisis volunteers with their made-up names and calm, comforting voices. Calls to respond to a possible suicide, battered wife, rape. Yeah, it figured. Sherry was the type who’d want to help people, and who’d do it for nothing. Long ago Cage had concluded that most of the nuts who called the center would be doing the world a favor, saving the taxpayers a lot of time and money, if they just bit down on the barrel and pulled the trigger. As far as he was concerned, the only cure for weakness was a chunk of lead.
He had no trouble keeping her in sight. The broken taillight marked her truck from others on the highway. He followed it into the parking garage of a large c
asino downtown.
Since when did a crisis center use a casino for its headquarters? he wondered.
From across the parking garage he watched her climb down from the truck. She wore a plain cotton top, pants, and leather sandals, and—slung over her shoulder—a huge suede handbag. He followed her inside and kept her in sight until she disappeared into a restroom on the main floor.
Taking up an observation position at the nearest bar, a bar which Cage knew from personal experience encouraged hookers by comping their drinks, the bartenders often acting as pimps, Cage ordered a drink. As he waited, he pondered what she was doing in the club. Probably responding to someone in distress. A friend or acquaintance or someone she’d assisted on the crisis line, someone she felt she could trust. People like Sherry were forever putting themselves out. They had no shortage of friends in need.
Ten minutes later, a stunning woman dressed in a tight green mini-dress and high heels pushed through the door of the restroom. The woman had hair the color of Sherry’s. It wasn’t the face he recognized first, but the oversized handbag. She headed toward the same bar where Cage stood.
He recovered in time to quickly turn his back to her. She passed without a glance in his direction. After taking a seat at the opposite end of the bar, she reached into her bag and took out a cigarette. The bartender lit it. He leaned toward her, said something to her. She turned her head to look at a man in an expensive blue suit sitting at a table against the wall. The man was playing with a stack of white chips. He smiled at Sherry. She smiled back, slid off the stool, and strolled to his table.
The man stood, put an arm around her waist, and escorted her out of the bar.
Cage gripped his tequila shot in an iron fist. He felt the blood rise to his brain, flooding his senses. The thick shot glass cracked beneath his fingers.
No woman could be trusted. No woman—ever.
*
At 3:00 A.M., Kasey found herself aimlessly wandering the quiet floors of the hotel. It had been another long day and an even longer night. After her visit with her father earlier that evening, she had driven around for hours. Then, back at the hotel, she had avoided everyone by shutting herself in her room, a room she could no longer stomach.
She had little fear of running into Cage. He was brazen, but not that brazen. Security had been doubled and a few special agents still remained in the club. Any unauthorized person roaming about was immediately stopped and questioned.
She had started for the pool, but memories of being there with Jay turned her away. Her horoscope for the day predicted love and romance. The usual garbage. There was nothing romantic about unrequited love.
She took the elevator to the Skyline Room, a cocktail lounge on the top floor with a sweeping view of the city and mountains. At this time of the morning, even before the recent drop off in business, she would have it all to herself.
Just as she expected, the lounge was dark, deserted, the bar section closed. Using the lights of the city to guide her, she carefully wound her way through the cluster of tables and plush, padded chairs to stand at the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Beyond the Reno cityscape she watched a track of twinkling lights—sporadic late-night traffic from Tahoe wending down the mountain and into the valley. It was quiet and peaceful here.
She thought of Jay and how harried he had looked since the evacuation. She had caught a glimpse of him that evening leaving for home. Since the afternoon Dianne had stormed out of the suite, refusing to return. Jay had been forced to commute each day.
Kasey couldn’t understand Dianne’s tempestuous behavior toward Jay. It was common knowledge Dianne was spoiled, selfish, and had a temper; but in the past, she had always displayed a certain measure of respect for her husband. Of course, it was difficult to predict how any one person would react when thrust into the jaws of danger. But Jay was also a victim. Kasey could only hope that she would never have to rely on Dianne in a grave situation.
Kasey felt bad, guilty even, because she could muster no sympathy for Dianne, none whatsoever. Dianne had Jay, yet she didn’t seem to realize what she had. Was Dianne that sure of Jay’s love and devotion? Or didn’t it matter to her? Could she toss him aside so casually in order to protect herself?
Just thinking of Jay, of his ordeal, made Kasey’s heart go out to him. He wanted only what was best for the club. Torn between a loyalty to the family business and his beautiful wife—a wife whose only interest in the business was what it could provide her—he now stood to lose both.
Kasey lowered her head, rested it against the cool window pane, and shut her eyes. Behind her closed lids, the twinkling city lights lingered; and then, superimposed on that, Jay’s face slowly began to materialize. Jay’s face, as it had been that night in the Jacuzzi, close to hers, so close she could feel his warm breath lightly caress her cheek. She had wanted so badly to feel his lips on hers. Even now her lips ached for his.
With two fingers, she lightly touched her lips, tracing them. If he kissed her, would he find her lips sensual? Would he compare them to Dianne’s? If they made love, would he find her body as attractive as Dianne’s? She thought of the scratches and bite marks on his shoulder and wondered if he would expect her to be as wild and wanton as Dianne.
Kasey placed her hand at her throat, then let it glide down across her chest to rest upon one full and aching breast.
How ironic, she thought. Initially, she had been hired to help Jay out. So far, all she had done was to fall in love with him. She couldn’t do this anymore. Jay didn’t need her. Staying would only further complicate things.
“Don’t quit on me, Kasey.”
Although the words were spoken softly, Kasey jumped and whirled around.
Rising up from a deep, padded chair, a mere silhouette in the dim room, was Jay King.
Before she could move or speak, he was there, a hand on each of her arms, squeezing. “You were thinking about quitting. Please don’t.”
“Jay…”
He dropped his hands, turned to stare out of the window. “I can read you, Kasey. We’re a lot alike, you and I. Right now, we’re both doing some heavy soul-searching. Believe me, running away is not the solution.”
It’s the only solution when I have no willpower where you’re concerned, she wanted to say. When all I can think about is being with you.
“I can count on you, Kasey. More than I can count on my wife. It appears I’m not welcome in my own home. Just being around me seems to throw terror into her. She blames me for everything that’s happened.”
Kasey felt a spark of hope, then quickly dismissed it. Nothing has changed, she told herself
“I came up here for the same reason you did. To think,” he went on. “I was thinking about you when you came in. At first, when I saw you enter, framed in the light from the corridor, I thought…” He laughed low in his throat. “I thought you weren’t real. That I, well, that I’d somehow conjured you out of thin air. But you’re real all right. You’re so goddamned real it scares the hell out of me. I need something real right now, Kasey. I need…” His words died away.
Kasey touched his cheek. He took her hand, pressed her palm to his lips, and closed his eyes.
Her other hand raised up to touch him, stopping inches from his face. Go, she told herself, get out of here before it’s too late.
“Jay?”
Jay opened his eyes and looked into hers. Again she saw that blend of longing and pain and knew her own eyes reflected the same emotions. He placed her hand flat against his chest, holding it there with his hand. She felt his heart beating powerfully beneath her palm.
His mouth covered hers, silencing her words. His lips were warm, sweet, sensual. The clean scent of his aftershave swirled around her. Her own heart beat with a force that made her suddenly lightheaded.
Their lips, their tongues, moved in perfect sync as though each had been made for the other, as though they had kissed countless times before.
Their bodies came together. They
couldn’t seem to get close enough. Where his body touched hers, it was warm, charged with a sexual energy, a promise of deep fulfillment. It felt so good, so right. How could anything that felt this incredible not be right? This special man who held her, kissed her, who at this very moment ignited a fiery passion in her, was meant for her. And she was meant for him. All other men in her life paled in comparison.
An image of Kevin burst into her mind. Kevin, with his lost, little-boy look, with his soft brown eyes, his one-sided dimples; Kevin in a groom’s tuxedo kissing her at the altar— then it was gone, abruptly cast away, destroyed by the shrill whistle of a speeding train.
Kasey stumbled back. Suddenly she was cold. Jay held onto her; his hands slid down her arms until he held just her fingers.
She shook her head.
“Kasey, I’m falling in—”
“No.” She tugged her fingertips out of his grasp. Tears filled her eyes. She backed away.
“We can deny each other for the rest of eternity, but I can’t deny the way I feel about you.”
She rushed from the Skyline Room with Jay’s words ringing in her ears.
*
Kasey let herself into her room minutes later. She had closed the door behind her and was putting the safety chain in its track when she realized there was something wrong.
Distracted by the episode upstairs with Jay, she was being anything but cautious; she wasn’t thinking straight—wasn’t thinking at all. A flickering light reflecting upon the door was her first clue that she was not alone.
She heard a loud report, like a gunshot, and her heart leaped into her throat.
She whirled around and saw the candles, at least a dozen of them, burning in various positions around the room.
“Don’t be afraid,” a voice said. Then Brad, wearing slacks and a dress shirt open to the waist, displaying a smooth, tanned chest, stepped into view holding a foaming champagne bottle. “Do you like Dom Perignon?”
Kasey, with adrenaline racing through her body, wanted to scream, to break down in hysterics, to pound her fist on the wall. Instead, she slumped against the wall and wearily covered her face with her hands.
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